


So That It Doesn't Fade Away

by Camellia_Bee



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Abusive Mentor, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood, Car Accidents, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fire, Gen, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Murder, Music, Psychological Horror, Sort Of, Stabbing, Strangling (not sexy), Suicide Attempt, Tragedy, Trauma, hui is a producer, hyunggu is a trainee, inspired by Sonata Of A Flame, it has a happier ending than the musical does, other members are mentioned but don't appear, sorry - Freeform, umm... yeah so this is really dark, which isn't really saying much but you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camellia_Bee/pseuds/Camellia_Bee
Summary: beklemmt- oppressed, heavy of heart. A word which Beethoven has attached to the middle section of the Cavatina in his Quartet in B flat (op. 130), where he modulates into C flat; and where the choked and broken accents of the first violin fully bear out the expression.Recently, Hwitaek has been struggling to create music he's satisfied with, and the harsh criticisms of his mentor aren't doing much to help. After he comes face-to-face with death, however, he's inspired to write the beginnings of a symphony. When his mentor discovers what happened, he urges Hwitaek to commit murder in order to gain the inspiration to finish his work...
Relationships: Kang Hyunggu | Kino & Lee Hwitaek | Hui
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	So That It Doesn't Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a frenzy after rewatching Sonata Of A Flame because I needed to do something about all my feels and also I have severe Hui brainrot. It's a little less dark than the original (if you notice, this doesn't have major character death in the warnings) but... only a little. Please be careful reading it if you're sensitive to any of the stuff in the tags!

“KSan-ssi.”

The producer looked up as Hyunggu entered the studio. He smiled pleasantly, switching the monitor off. “Hyunggu-ya, what can I do for you?”

Hyunggu held up the tablet. It was scratched and scuffed from long use, cracks spread across the screen like spiderwebs coming from a single point of impact. “I found his journal.”

“… Ah.” KSan turned his chair to face Hyunggu. “I see.”

“That’s it?” Hyunggu stepped closer. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

KSan shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“How can you be so calm about this? You pressured Hwitaek-hyung into all this, manipulated him every step of the way until he was completely broken, tore his mind to shreds and ruined his life, shamelessly took credit for his work, and you have the audacity to sit there and be smug about it with that little smile on your face?” Hyunggu’s voice was hoarse; tears welled up in his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe so. But don’t you think the piece is lovely?”

Hyunggu shook his head. “Not if it came out of this mess. If it took all this to create that music, it’d be better if it had never existed.”

“It’s happened now, though. All we can do is shake our heads in pity and go on with life. Something beautiful has been created out of this death and suffering; it would be disrespectful to hide that away out of moral concern.”

“You twisted a man beyond repair for this. Hyung was -” Hyunggu clenched his fist - “he _is_ \- a genius, and you drove him insane. At least acknowledge it!”

A small smile appeared on KSan’s face. “I helped him realize his potential. That’s all.”

Hyunggu scowled. “You absolute -” He cut himself off, unlocking the tablet with a quick swipe. “I won’t waste time swearing at you. Just listen to this.” He tapped on the Journal app and started reading aloud.

_“KSan-ssi has barely talked to me for weeks. I’m worried that he thinks I’m not worth his time anymore…”_

*******

*******

Hwitaek clicked _save_ and leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh. He still wasn’t totally satisfied, but it was better than any of his other drafts. Maybe KSan-sunbaenim would have something good to say about it this time.

He closed his eyes, running over his mentor’s previous criticisms. _Too slow, too boring, not enough variety, lacking depth, horribly bland, uncreative, not worth the space it took up on the hard drive._ This draft was better. This one would impress KSan-sunbaenim, this one might even earn Hwitaek a genuine compliment or two. When was the last time sunbaenim had given him a compliment that wasn’t backhanded and laced with criticism or thinly veiled frustration?

_You can do better than this._

_Well, it’s not bad enough to get you fired._

_I’m a little concerned that you might have lost your motivation after Energetic. You can’t get complacent after one hit song, Hwitaek-ah._

_Hmm… I don’t like the melody, but the bass line has potential._

_I suppose this could be reworked into something passable._

_You know, Hwitaek-ah, I’m honestly disappointed in the quality of your work recently._

_Let me work on it for a while; it’s a good starting point, but you’re not really getting anywhere._

_Hwitaek-ie, are you doing all right? You just seem tired. Maybe you should take a break, refresh your mind and come back more inspired._

_I’ll tell the CEO that the reason your work is suffering is because you’ve been sick; don’t worry, I’ll cover for you._

_I know you’ve got the seeds of genius in you, Hwitaek-ie, we just need to find a way to bring out your talent._

_Is this really all you’ve got for me?_

_Hwitaek-ah… if you applied yourself, if you really made an effort, I think you would do much better._

_Employee reviews are coming up soon - I’ll polish up some of your work for you so you have a better chance of getting a good score._

KSan-sunbaenim was right, he needed to work harder. He’d been given a chance to succeed, he couldn’t squander it. Sunbaenim had taken him under his wing, and he had to show his gratitude by doing his best.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway outside. Hwitaek hurriedly sat up straight, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to get it at least somewhat presentable and tugging on the hem of his sweater where it was crooked. 

The studio door opened, and KSan walked in. His wrinkled hoodie, baseball cap, and cargo pants stood in sharp contrast to Hwitaek’s fitted sweater and nice jeans; he patted Hwitaek on the shoulder as he sat in the other chair and said, “What have you got, Hwitaek-ah?”

Hwitaek bowed and pulled up the file. He hesitated briefly before clicking play - as the music played, he kept a close eye on KSan’s reactions.

KSan listened with a blank face until about halfway through, at which point he leaned over and paused the music, staring at Hwitaek, who shifted nervously in his seat.

Finally, KSan sighed. “Hwitaek-ah… Can I be honest here?”

Hwitaek nodded.

“This is trash.” KSan gestured to the computer screen. “I know you’ve never written serious music - orchestral, I mean - but I expected something better.”

Hwitaek hung his head. “I’m sorry, sunbaenim.”

KSan’s tone hardened.“I’m starting to wonder if Energetic was just a fluke. I thought you had potential, that was why I pulled strings to get you hired when you dropped out of the trainee program - you know they would never have considered you otherwise. I really had high hopes for you, but you’ve done almost nothing but disappoint me.” He stood and began to walk out.

“Wait, sunbaenim - please don’t go - I can do better, I’ll fix it, I promise!” Hwitaek jumped out of his chair and knelt on the floor. “Just tell me what’s wrong with it, I’ll work harder, I can fix it, please-”

KSan paused in the doorway. “You really want my advice?”

“Yes - please, sunbaenim, I know you’ll be able to help me make this good.”

“All right, fine.” KSan returned and sat down. “Get up, get in your seat.”

Hwitaek obeyed.

“Now, you’ve got to think about what you’re writing. You chose the idea of death to base your piece on, right? How does that come out in the music?”

Hwitaek frowned. “Well, I imagined darkness closing in slowly, taking over peacefully as the dying person lets out their last breath. I wanted it to be solemn-”

There was a click, and all of a sudden, KSan was behind him, holding a knife to his throat. Hwitaek could feel his jugular pulsing against the cold blade - just one small movement and he’d be dead, bleeding out - he gasped, scrabbling at KSan’s wrist to try and pry his hand away, get the knife away from his throat - his breath was coming in short bursts, panic taking over -

“Does this feel peaceful?” KSan asked casually.

Hwitaek tried to turn his head to look back at him without making the knife slip. “Sunbaenim - what are you doing -”

“Just a little cut and you’d get to feel that darkness closing in, right?” The knife pressed in further and drew blood - he could feel the warm droplet trickling down his neck -

“Agh - sunbaenim -”

“You’re panicking, you’re afraid. Full of adrenaline. You think death is solemn?” The knife moved away, and Hwitaek folded in on himself, trembling - he reached up to feel at his throat, fingers coming away stained with his own blood.

“Write something that feels like that,” KSan continued. “Terrified. Eyes open, frantic, on the brink of oblivion and doing anything you can to avoid it. That’s your first movement, Hwitaek-ah. Right now it’s -” he checked his watch - “seven p.m. If you’ve got something good within twenty-four hours, I’ll think about helping you out.” He handed Hwitaek a tissue and patted his shoulder. “Clean yourself up, all right? I’ll get you a coffee before I go.”

***

Hwitaek rubbed at his eyes. How long had he been working? Right, there was a clock on the thing… three-thirty in the morning? And he’d come in at six a.m. yesterday… that was how many hours? He started counting on his fingers, but lost track of where he was when he tried to factor in his lunch break and couldn’t remember whether he’d taken it at noon or one. He shook his head. It didn’t matter… it was a lot of hours, that was the important thing. He should probably go home and sleep for a bit.

He rested his head on the steering wheel for a bit before starting his car. Had he forgotten to lock the studio when he left? No, he’d locked it, he remembered fumbling and dropping his keys twice while trying to fish out the one for the studio.

Maybe he should take an Uber… no, he didn’t have his card with him. KSan-sunbaenim must have forgotten to return it after he’d jokingly confiscated it when Hwitaek had offered to pay for dinner the other day. He didn’t have cash either, and his phone was dead. He’d just have to be extra careful driving home.

He’d missed his turn somehow. The area he’d ended up in was way too countryside-ish to be his neighborhood. No apartment buildings, lots of trees. No streetlights, either, and his headlights barely illuminated anything.

He jerked awake suddenly - he’d dozed off at the wheel? That was… bad, to say the least - as something hit his car with a loud thump. He slammed on the brakes and put the car in park, scrambling out to check and see what he’d hit. A deer, maybe?

Oh, God. It was a person. He’d hit a person! He hurried over. The man was covered in blood, limbs at unnatural angles - his eyes stared into Hwitaek’s with a look he couldn’t decipher. All he knew was that the man had to be in massive pain.

Hwitaek staggered backward, fighting a wave of nausea. He gathered himself after a moment and approached the man again.

“Are - are you all right?” The question seemed ridiculous, once he said it out loud. The man was obviously on the verge of death. Hwitaek looked around - there was no one else on the road, no houses nearby, and his phone was dead… what was he going to do? He glanced back at the man.

God, what was he supposed to do?

He stumbled into the studio as the sun began to creep up over the horizon. Everything that had happened up till now was a blur - he’d hidden the body in the trees by the side of the road, found his way back here - had he wiped the blood off his car? He didn’t know - and walked down to the studios on autopilot.

No one would find out about it, right? There hadn’t been any witnesses, no one had passed by. The man wasn’t in any condition to be saved, even if Hwitaek had put him in the car and driven him to the hospital; he couldn’t have done anything. The man would have died no matter what - Hwitaek turning himself in wouldn’t bring him back to life, he might as well leave it undiscovered and skip out on being thrown in jail. 

Right?

His head hurt. For now, he’d just do what he should have done in the first place and sleep on the tiny studio couch.

When he closed his eyes, though, the man’s face appeared in his mind. The expression of pain and fear…

Music.

Hwitaek leapt up from the couch and booted up the computer. The music in his head, the cello and the piano and the violins and the clarinets and the French horns - it perfectly fit the man’s countenance, exactly what it had looked like, what he must have been thinking, how it felt to be him in that moment. He opened the music program and started to write it down, fingers flying across the keys at top speed and creating their own symphony.

He woke to find himself slumped over the keyboard, KSan shaking his shoulder. He raised his head slightly, squinting - the light hurt his eyes, and he laid his head back down on his arm.

“Hwitaek-ah, wake up,” KSan said. “Sleeping like this isn’t good for you.”

He groaned and pushed himself upright. His back popped as he straightened, and KSan sighed a little. “Have you at least got something to show for this? Don’t tell me you’re ruining your health for no reason.”

Hwitaek nodded. “I have something new. Can I show you?”

“Go ahead,” KSan said, and sat down. Hwitaek turned the volume up and clicked play.

KSan listened till the end this time; when the section was over, he nodded and said, “It’s not perfect, but… it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Really?” Hwitaek almost couldn’t believe his ears. “You like it?”

“Don’t go getting a big head. But yes, I think it’s pretty decent.”

“Thank you, sunbaenim!” Hwitaek bowed as deeply as he could from his chair.

KSan stood and ruffled Hwitaek’s hair. “Keep it up.”

***

Hwitaek stared at the screen, as if the notes would appear on the score by themselves if he concentrated hard enough.

The flash of inspiration from earlier had completely dissipated, leaving his mind as empty of ideas as before. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t get anything more written down. He did his best to recall what he’d been thinking earlier, but it had all melted away like a fever dream - the only trace left was the section of music currently sitting on the screen, mocking him.

The file name caught his attention; he couldn’t remember having named it in his frenzy, but he’d apparently titled it “MOVEMENT 1: MORMORANDO”. Murmuring.

He played the section again.

Had he really written this? It felt so strange, like it had come from somewhere else. Unfamiliar.

No - this hadn’t been him. It was coming back to him now, the way the image of the man’s face had hovered behind his eyelids, the music that had come into his head already fully formed, ready for him to write down as it was.

Maybe if he went back…

He pushed the thought away immediately. There was no way he was going back to look at the body, even if he might get a hint at the second movement. It made him shudder to even think about it.

Though, if he went back, he could make sure the man’s body was properly hidden. He’d probably done a sloppy job, sleep-deprived as he’d been, and it might be good to check and make sure it was concealed.

And… well, if he had any ideas for the second movement while he was there, he couldn’t help that.

It took more time than he expected to find the place where he’d hidden the body. As he brushed the leaves aside to uncover it, though, he recoiled in horror.

The man was still alive.

He’d been lying here for, what, nine or ten hours? Mangled but alive the whole time, suffering… Hwitaek could take him to the hospital, but by this point the man was barely breathing. Even picking him up and bringing him to the car would probably kill him. The most merciful thing to do would be… 

Hwitaek shook his head before he could finish the thought. That would be murder, no matter how he looked at it. He was already struggling to rationalize this - killing the man outright would be too much to handle.

The man choked and gurgled. Hwitaek looked down at him.

What was the other choice, though? Leaving him here to die slowly? Surely that was worse… 

God, he’d never be able to forgive himself for this.

He straddled the man’s body and positioned his hands against the throat. Glanced up toward the heavens and took a deep breath, looked the man in the eye, whispered, “I’m sorry,” and started to squeeze.

The man jerked and spasmed for much longer than Hwitaek thought was possible. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch the man die, but some kind of morbid curiosity made him peek - eventually, the man stilled. Hwitaek lifted his shaking hands from the man’s neck and scooted away.

He sat in silence for a few moments.

He’d just committed a murder. He, Lee Hwitaek, had killed a man.

The man’s body looked so peaceful, now. His pain had passed, replaced with a serene nothingness. Welcoming the eternal darkness, rather than fighting it.

This was the second movement. Hwitaek could practically hear it, hear the man singing the melody to him, accompanied by a full orchestra. He dug his tablet out of his coat pocket - he had to write it down quickly, before it was lost.

The sun had almost gone down by the time Hwitaek finished. He saved the file to transfer to the studio computer later and tucked the tablet back into his coat; now he could hide the body. Before starting on that, though, he pulled out a permanent marker and rolled one of the man’s sleeves up. He wrote “Mormorando” in large letters on the upper arm, paused. The second movement would be called… ah, yes. He nodded, wrote “Religioso” on the forearm, and capped the marker. It was only right for the man to know why he’d died, for Hwitaek to let him know what he’d become. This was the only way Hwitaek could think of to put him to rest.

He hid the body inside a hollow log and plugged the ends with clay, moss, and leaves. No one would think to look for it there.

*******

*******

“He did all that before I was even involved,” KSan interrupted. “You can’t blame me for that part, Hyunggu-ya.”

Hyunggu sighed. “I’d argue that in mentally abusing him and forcing him to work himself half to death, you were in some way responsible for him getting into that accident - but that’s something we can discuss later. Everything that comes after this point, though, is because of you.” He pointed to the tablet. “You know Hwitaek-hyung didn’t want to kill again. He tried all kinds of things to get his inspiration back - at the cost of his own health, I’ll remind you - but you convinced him that his only option was to murder more people.”

“If you’ve read his journal, you should know that murder was the only thing that actually worked.” KSan shrugged. “His other methods were useless.”

*******

*******

Hwitaek pressed a paper towel against his hand and watched as his own blood soaked through it, turning the paper towel a brilliant red. The kitchen knife he’d used lay discarded next to him, dripping blood onto the countertop.

It had probably been stupid to stab this deep into his hand, given the number of things he could mess up - after all, his job required the use of his hands - but he didn’t want to risk hitting an artery and bleeding out. He couldn’t write anything down if he was dead.

To be honest, he was beginning to wonder if he would ever get his inspiration back. He hadn’t managed to make any progress on his piece since he’d killed that man a few weeks ago, and the lengths he was going to in order to regain at least a tiny bit of inspiration were starting to take a toll on his body. He’d tried depriving himself of sleep, starving himself, standing on top of buildings and imagining falling off, and now stabbing a knife into his hand. Even the sight of his own blood, though, hadn’t been enough to trigger whatever had come over him when he’d written the first two movements. Maybe he just needed to go farther.

He balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash can.

There was already blood staining the bandages on his hand by the time he walked into the studio the next morning, even though he’d changed them before leaving the apartment. He should have thought to bring extra bandages - he’d have to get some during his break.

KSan was waiting in the studio. As Hwitaek entered, he held out a tablet. “Is this yours? It was on the desk.”

Hwitaek hurried to take it. “Yes, sunbaenim. Thank you.”

“You might want to password-protect it. Otherwise, anyone could pick it up and look through it. They could even read through the journal app. That would certainly be interesting.”

Hwitaek swallowed. Had he…? “It’s - it’s a project - I’m writing a story -”

“It matches up,” KSan continued. “October 28th, the day you wrote the first movement - then the second movement the day after. I wondered about it. How you managed to write them so quickly.”

Hwitaek clutched the tablet to his chest. “Sunbaenim, I…”

“Incredible, really.” KSan turned to face him. “How did it feel to strangle him? To watch the life bleed out of him bit by bit? Did you enjoy it?”

Hwitaek collapsed into one of the chairs, shaking.

“That’s how you got the ideas for the music, right?”

“Sunbaenim… what are you going to do? Are you going to call the police?”

“Now, why would I do that?” KSan raised an eyebrow. 

“Wh- what?”

KSan smiled. “Your piece is going well. Why would I cut you off just as you’re beginning to bloom?”

“I don’t understand.” Hwitaek looked up. “What do you mean?”

“All great music is born of sacrifice. Paganini, for example - they say he sold his soul to the devil. Mozart completed the Requiem on his deathbed.” KSan shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Nothing comes without a price.”

Hwitaek frowned. “Are you saying-”

“I’m saying,” KSan interrupted, “that if you had a choice between writing a great masterpiece or becoming a failure, wouldn’t you choose to write the masterpiece, no matter what it cost? A great artist can’t afford to hesitate.” He poured himself some scotch and took a sip, then set his glass aside and poured some for Hwitaek.

“I - I don’t really drink-” Hwitaek trailed off as KSan shoved the glass into his hands.

“What are you afraid of, Hwitaek-ah? What’s holding you back from becoming great?” KSan picked up his glass and took another sip. “You could create such beautiful music.”

Hwitaek looked at the glass in his hands. The scotch caught the light as he tilted it, turning pure gold for a moment. He took a cautious sip - it burned going down, made his eyes water, and he winced.

“Just take it in one shot, it’s easier that way if you’re not used to it,” KSan advised. 

Hwitaek nodded and drained the glass; it was over quickly, but once he’d swallowed the alcohol, he needed a few seconds to cough and wipe the tears from his eyes. KSan waited patiently for him to be done before pouring him a second glass.

“Sunbaenim-”

KSan waved his protests aside. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t make you drink any more than you’re comfortable with.”

“Yes, sunbaenim.” Hwitaek wasn’t sure he was comfortable even having one glass, let alone two, but he didn’t say anything.

“As I was saying, though, everything has a cost. If this is what it takes to create… well, you have to think about why you make music. It’s your life, your passion. Just imagine - what would happen if you lost that, if you couldn’t write music anymore?”

If he could never make music again… what would he do? Hwitaek stared at his bandaged hand. The moment he’d pulled the knife out of his hand, watched the blood well up, and realized that he still couldn’t hear anything - that the symphony wasn’t coming back - it had crushed him.

He couldn’t live like that.

“You’ve taken the first step on your path,” KSan said. “It’s time for you to decide whether you have the courage to continue.”

Hwitaek’s hands trembled, his drink sloshing in the glass. “C-can you give me a minute to… to think about it?”

KSan nodded and started toward the door. “I’ll get the first-aid kit - that hand needs to be taken care of, your bandages are soaked through.” He closed the door behind him as he left.

Hwitaek stared at the wall, head buzzing. What was he going to do?

His phone vibrated in his pocket - someone was calling him. He pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

_“Hey, hyung. It’s Hyunggu.”_

“Oh - hi, Hyunggu-ya. What’s up?”

_“I just wanted to check up on you. You haven’t been answering my texts lately.”_

“Sorry. I’ve just been busy.” Hwitaek frowned. “Hyunggu-ya… what would you do if you lost inspiration?”

_“How come you’re asking this all of a sudden?”_

“Just… answer the question, please.”

Hyunggu sighed - at least, that was what it sounded like. _“I’d probably try to get inspired again. Hyung, are you doing all right?”_

“I’m fine. How’s training going?”

_“Good. They’re starting to talk about maybe debuting a new group, and I think I’m one of the trainees they’re considering.”_

“That’s really good, Hyunggu-ya. I’m proud of you.”

 _“We all miss you, though. I wish you’d stayed.”_ Hyunggu’s tone was plaintive. _“Are you sure you don’t want to come back? We could debut together…”_

“I already have a job, Hyunggu-ya.”

_“The company wouldn’t mind - you could keep producing for them, even if you debuted. It’s not like they’d be losing you or anything.”_

“I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Hwitaek hung up before Hyunggu could reply and leaned back in his chair.

_Try to get inspired again… everything has a price._

The door opened, and KSan walked in with the first-aid kit. “Decided anything yet?” He sat on the other chair and reached for Hwitaek’s injured hand. “I’ll help you with that, come here.”

Hwitaek scooted his chair over and held his hand out; as KSan started to unwrap the bloodied bandages, he whispered, “Sunbaenim… you really think this is the only way I can write something good?”

KSan shrugged. “The two movements you’ve got so far are better than anything I’ve heard from you. I think this is your chance.” He pulled the bandages off and set them aside.

“What… what do you think I should do next?”

KSan cleaned the crusted blood off of Hwitaek's hand with a sterile wipe. It stung - Hwitaek did his best not to flinch away. “There’s plenty of people the world could do without, people who, if they died, it’d be doing everyone a favor.” He dabbed some antiseptic ointment onto the wound. “For example, there’s a man in my apartment complex. He’s an alcoholic; he comes home drunk at night and beats his wife and children. His family would be safer and happier if he was gotten rid of.”

Hwitaek watched as KSan taped some gauze over his hand and wrapped fresh bandages around it.

“Honestly,” KSan said, “he’s not even worthy of being your musical inspiration, but we’ll make do with what we have. Here - take these.” He held out a couple of pills. Hwitaek accepted them and looked around for his water bottle - it wasn’t in the room, he must have forgotten it at home. He took a sip of his scotch to wash them down instead. His chest burned slightly; the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though, and he was feeling reckless, so he finished the glass. It went down easier this time. KSan nodded approvingly.

“Meet me at my apartment tomorrow night,” KSan said after a moment. “We’ll start making a plan.”

***

Hwitaek shifted his grip on the knife KSan had given him. It glinted in the darkness - hardly any light shone into the alleyway, the streetlamp on the corner wasn’t powerful enough to reach this far. He checked his watch again - 2:54. KSan had said that on Friday nights, the man didn’t come home till past three in the morning, but they’d been waiting here since two just in case.

KSan’s hand on his shoulder startled him, and he flinched. “Ah - sorry, sunbaenim.”

“I told you, you can call me hyung when we’re outside of work. Do you see him?”

Hwitaek shook his head. “Not yet.”

“He’ll be here any minute. Are you ready?”

“I… I think so?” Hwitaek glanced back at the knife.

“Remember what I told you.”

“Go between the ribs if you can,” Hwitaek repeated. “It’ll get to the lungs or something else important. There’s an artery near the armpit, that’s your next best bet. If he keeps fighting, go for the eye.” He swallowed. “Pull him into the alley until he stops struggling. Wrap the body in trash bags and throw it in the dumpster.”

“Good.”

Hwitaek froze. “I hear footsteps.”

“That’s him. Go.” KSan pushed him forward - he stumbled out of the alleyway and came face-to-face with a large scruffy man. Without letting himself think, he grabbed the man by the jacket and stabbed him, pulled the knife out and stabbed again, tugged the man toward the alley. Threw him to the ground, frantic, stabbed him again and again - the handle of the knife grew slippery with hot blood as he yanked it out of the man’s chest. He dropped the knife eventually, stood - his clothes were dark and heavy, soaked in blood, hands dripping with it… he fell to his knees. When he rested his hands on the ground, they left sticky red marks on the concrete.

He felt KSan patting his back. “You did it, Hwitaek-ah. Good job.”

Hwitaek drew in a shaky breath, halfway between a gasp and a sob. There was some kind of warm liquid running down his face - his own tears, or drops of the man’s blood? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Now, let’s get this cleaned up. I’ll take care of the body, you just focus on wiping yourself off enough that you won’t leave tracks on the way up to my apartment - I have a change of clothes for you there, you can shower and get changed while I dispose of the evidence.” KSan lifted him to his feet and handed him a towel.

As Hwitaek wiped the blood off his hands, he was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea - he leaned against the wall to recover. KSan said something in a concerned tone, but Hwitaek couldn’t hear him over the music filling his head. It clouded his vision with how intense it was. The third movement. He started to stumble away from the wall - the next thing he knew, though, he was falling forward limply, and his vision went dark.

He woke up on KSan’s couch; he was dressed in clean clothes, no traces of blood on his hands. He scrambled to find a notepad and pen.

Eventually, KSan walked in, hands stained with red. He seemed confused to find Hwitaek surrounded by sheets of paper on the floor - maybe it was odd, but Hwitaek hadn’t wanted to waste time writing down everything in his head.

It wasn’t finished this time. Hwitaek wracked his brain, trying to dig up any last dregs of music from the depths of his mind, but nothing came.

KSan explained that he’d passed out before he could finish cleaning up the evidence, but that it was all right; everything was taken care of now.

Hwitaek waited for him to finish before asking for a moment to himself outside. He took the pen and went down to the dumpster - it was still dark, the sun just beginning to light up the sky - located the man’s body, peeled the trash bags away, and found a patch of intact skin big enough to write on. The pen wouldn’t write on the man’s skin, so Hwitaek picked up a piece of broken glass and carved the word “Simile” into the corpse. This man had to be put to rest with the name of the music he’d become, like the other. He was the beginning of the third movement - the Simile.

***

“You’re avoiding me,” KSan said as Hwitaek walked back into the studio. 

Hwitaek jumped - he hadn’t expected KSan to be there, he’d only been gone for a moment. “Good evening, sunbaenim.”

“Are you afraid you’ll get found out? No one will guess it’s you.” KSan sighed. “I’m not angry about what’s on the news.”

Hwitaek’s breath caught in his throat. “What’s on the news?”

KSan pulled out his phone and handed it over. Hwitaek scanned the article - _STRING OF MURDERS LEAVES POLICE BAFFLED_ \- and gave the phone back, sinking into his chair.

“They were going to figure out that it was murder at some point,” KSan said, “but they won’t be able to trace it back to you. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay.” Hwitaek ran a hand through his hair nervously and tugged at the neck of his sweater. “I - I trust you, sunbaenim.”

“Let’s get down to the real issue, though.” KSan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve stalled out on your piece. It’s taken three or four deaths for you to complete the third movement, and unless you’ve done more since I last checked, you still haven’t managed to start the fourth movement. What’s going on?”

Hwitaek frowned. “I don’t know. They - they’ve stopped talking to me. I can’t hear them, it doesn’t matter what I do. With the last one, I hardly got anything. It’s too quiet.”

“Hmm.”

“Why do you think it isn’t working? Am I losing this?” Hwitaek suddenly felt hollow. “Why won’t the music come?”

KSan shook his head. “Maybe…” He squinted. “Maybe it’s losing its meaning to you. The killing isn’t prompting a reaction like it did at first.”

“How do I get it back, then?” Hope flared up in Hwitaek’s chest. “What do I need to do?”

“Well, if my theory is right, then you’d have to commit a more important murder - Hwitaek-ah, I don’t like the look in your eye.”

Hwitaek paused, resting his hand on the desk, and asked innocently, “What’s wrong, sunbaenim?”

KSan glanced at the knife on the desk. “Hwitaek-ah, put your hands where I can see them-” He dived out of the way as Hwitaek pulled the knife out of its sheath and lunged at him. Hwitaek tried again, but KSan grabbed his wrists, forcing the knife away and holding him at a safe distance. “Hwitaek, stop! You really think you can finish your piece without me?”

Hwitaek struggled desperately, trying to get enough leverage to push the knife closer. KSan tightened his grip on Hwitaek’s wrists until he cried out in pain - the knife clattered to the floor, and Hwitaek slumped, breathing heavily.

“Hwitaek-ah, what were you thinking?” KSan demanded. “Are you stupid? You need my help, you can’t afford to kill me.” He shoved Hwitaek away.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sunbaenim, I don’t - I don’t know what came over me -” Hwitaek fell to his hands and knees. Now that his head was clear, he couldn’t believe what he’d just tried to do. “Please forgive me, I’m sorry-”

KSan sighed. “We’ll have to find someone special.”

“What do you mean?” Hwitaek looked up at him.

“If these deaths don’t mean something anymore, we need to find one that will. Not just a random stranger - a person you think is worthy of becoming your inspiration.” KSan met Hwitaek’s gaze. “It has to make an impact on you. It has to be a real sacrifice. Someone precious to you.”

Hwitaek hesitated. “I have to kill someone I care about?”

“You’re scared?”

“I don’t want-”

KSan smiled and shushed him. “Hwitaek-ah, you’ve got to go all the way if you want to be great. You need to be ready to give everything for your music.” He patted Hwitaek’s shoulder. “Pass me a beer from the minifridge, will you? Go ahead and take one for yourself, too. We’ve got to talk this over.”

Hwitaek obeyed, pulling two bottles of beer out of the minifridge and handing one to KSan. He twisted the cap off the other and took a sip before sitting back in his chair - he didn’t remember exactly when consuming alcohol had become a daily thing, but with KSan regularly pushing drinks on him, he’d somehow gotten into the habit of having at least one or two a day.

“Who’s your inspiration, Hwitaek-ah?” KSan asked. “If you imagined someone as your muse, who would it be?”

Hwitaek considered for a moment.

“I’ll put it this way. Say… when you were with this person, you felt creative, you felt like you could do anything, like music just flowed out of you. Who comes to mind?”

That was an easy one. “Hyunggu. My friend - my dongsaeng when I was a trainee.”

KSan nodded. “You’re still close with him?”

“Not as close as I used to be.”

“You should give him a call. I think he’d be a good fit.” KSan motioned to the phone in Hwitaek’s pocket. “Go ahead, call him.”

Reluctantly, Hwitaek fished his phone out and called Hyunggu. Maybe he was busy, maybe he’d miss the call and everything would be fine.

_Brrr._

_Brrr._

_“Hello?”_

Hwitaek bit his lip. “Hyunggu-ya?”

_“Hyung! What’s up? How are you doing?”_

“Hyunggu-ya, can you - can you come down to the studio? I want to see you.”

_“Of course, hyung! I’m at practice right now, but I’ll come by as soon as it’s over. Maybe an hour or so?”_

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.” Hwitaek ended the call.

KSan looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. “He’ll be here in about an hour.”

“Perfect.” KSan picked the knife up off the floor and placed it back on the desk.

“Sunbaenim,” Hwitaek started, then paused. How should he say this?

“What is it, Hwitaek-ie?”

“I just… why are you hurrying me like this?”

KSan snorted. “You’re talking as if you didn’t try to stab me five minutes ago for the sole purpose of getting your music back.” His tone grew a little more gentle as he continued, “I know you’re desperate, Hwitaek-ie, even if you won’t admit it, and I want to help you get this finished.”

Hwitaek nodded slowly, staring at the floor. It made sense; he was volatile, starting to spiral out of control. He needed to be done with this quickly, or it would get even worse.

“I have a meeting to attend before I leave, but I’ll be back later tonight. If you need help cleaning up, let me know - try to take him out back if you can, though, it’ll be much easier to hide the evidence than if you do it inside. Blood is hard to scrub out of floorboards, I hear.” KSan finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle into the trash.

Hwitaek flinched as the door opened and Hyunggu walked in. He’d thought he was calm, but obviously he’d been lying to himself. 

“Hwitaekie-hyung!” Hyunggu rushed over and embraced him. “Hyung, you’re so skinny. Have you not been eating?”

“I’m fine. Did you get taller?”

Hyunggu laughed. “Not compared to Wooseokie. He says hi, by the way. Everyone does - Shinwon-hyung, Hyojong-hyung, Changgu-hyung… They wanted to know how you were doing.”

Hwitaek pulled away from the hug. “Well, ah, tell them I said hi back. And that I’m doing well.”

“Are you really, hyung?” Hyunggu finally released him and looked him over. “You look… tired.”

“Yeah,” Hwitaek replied shortly. He turned away and pretended to organize some of the papers lying on the desk - his beer was still there, half-finished, so he chugged what was left before dropping the bottle in the trash.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Hyunggu said.

Hwitaek shrugged. “Didn’t used to.”

“Hyung…”

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about it, all right?” Hwitaek sighed, turning back to Hyunggu. “Things have changed a lot, Hyunggu-ya. It’s fine.”

Hyunggu looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t seem happy, hyung.”

“Play me something.”

Hyunggu blinked. “What?”

“Play me something,” Hwitaek repeated. “You still write music, right? I haven’t heard anything you’ve written in a while.”

“Okay.” Hyunggu sat at the keyboard, switching it on. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you feel like. You don’t even have to play something you wrote if you don’t feel like it - just play something that makes you happy.”

Hyunggu nodded. His hands settled on the keyboard as he considered - he still pouted a little when he was thinking, like he used to when Hwitaek was a trainee. The sight made something in Hwitaek’s chest ache. “Something that makes me happy… Hm.” His face lit up. “Got it.” He positioned his hands and began to play.

Hwitaek recognized the music instantly. It wasn’t Hyunggu’s composition - it was something Hwitaek had written when he was a trainee. Simple, basic, but lighthearted. Hyunggu smiled as he played it. “I still think about this song a lot. It was the first one of your projects you felt comfortable sharing with us.”

Hwitaek stared at him.

“It was when I was going through a hard time, actually. I was wondering if I should keep going with my dreams or give up on being an idol,” Hyunggu continued. “I remember the day you showed it to me - it was after a tough dance lesson and we were both tired, but I think you could tell I was unhappy. You asked if I wanted to hear something you were working on, and you brought me to the studio and played this for me. You sang a little as well, I think, some lyrics about staying hopeful. It really cheered me up. Knowing that you trusted me enough to share your music with me, and that you cared about me and wanted me to be happy… it helped a lot. That was the day I decided I wanted to write music too. I wanted to be like you.” Hyunggu hummed along with the piano for a moment. “I’m trying to remember the lyrics. They were good. Something… _go ahead, run on, I’ll be there…_ ”

Hwitaek sang quietly, “ _Don’t be afraid, go on, I’ll come to you in the end._ ” 

He trailed off, and Hyunggu picked up the melody. “ _Go on, go on, so that it won’t fade away into a dream again._ That was it. _Don’t be afraid…_ ” He switched to the two-person piano arrangement Hwitaek had made so that they could play it together, and Hwitaek slowly came over and started playing the upper part. They still knew each other’s cues, playing smoothly and perfectly in sync.

Suddenly, Hwitaek remembered why Hyunggu was there, and he slammed his hand on the keyboard, reached over and turned it off. He couldn’t do this right now, couldn’t keep it up when he knew how tonight would have to end.

“Hyung?”

Hwitaek looked away. It was best to just get this over with. “Let’s go outside.”

“All right.” Hyunggu shrugged and got up. Hwitaek picked his phone up from the desk, slipping KSan’s knife into his pocket at the same time. Hyunggu didn’t seem to notice.

They made their way outside, and Hwitaek guided Hyunggu into the alley beside the building. As they walked deeper into the alleyway, the knife felt heavier and heavier in Hwitaek’s pocket - he tried to delay the inevitable by starting a conversation. “I’ve been thinking… How come you never got angry at me?”

Hyunggu looked at him quizzically. “Why would I be angry at you?”

“I stole your idea. Energetic. That song won an award, it’s a huge hit, and it’s not mine.” Hwitaek leaned against the wall of one of the buildings. “I’m making money off your music, but you’re not upset.”

Hyunggu furrowed his brow. “It’s not my song, hyung. You did all the arranging and everything, you wrote the lyrics. The only part that I’m responsible for in any way is the basic melody and some of the chord progressions, and even that’s not really mine to claim. I was just messing around on the keyboard. I didn’t write any of it down.”

“You could have, though,” Hwitaek said. “That award could have been yours.”

“What would I do with an award, hyung? I don’t care about that. Besides, I never would have started writing music without you. You’ve taught me so much and taken care of me… Being your friend is enough for me.”

“I should have guessed you’d say something like that.” Hwitaek sighed. “You’re always doing this. Happy to spend time with me. Grateful for the chance to learn. Don’t need anything more than this moment. That kind of thing.”

“It’s true. I write music because I love it. I’m not looking for recognition.”

Hwitaek shook his head. “It’s easy for you to say that. You’re talented, you can afford to be casual about it.”

“Talented?” Hyunggu raised an eyebrow. “Hyung, if either of us is talented, it’s you. You’re a genius.”

“Stop it. You know how much effort it takes for me to write something good - how much I struggle with it. It all comes naturally for you, you just sit down and create while I have to work with whatever I can get.”

“Your music is amazing, hyung-”

Hwitaek clenched his fists. “Don’t lie. I know you look down on me. Maybe you feel sorry for me - it’s not important.” He pushed himself off the wall, turning toward Hyunggu. “I just - sometimes I wonder what it’s like. How does it feel to make something good on the first try? To write your music down and be satisfied with it? What is it like to have creating your music be _easy_?”

“I -”

“You don’t get it - you’re good at everything, you’re naturally talented - I’d rip my own heart out of my chest with my bare hands to be on your level!” Hwitaek moved closer to Hyunggu. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, it doesn’t matter what I do, things are always the same in the end. I can never measure up.”

“Hwitaek-hyung… where is all this coming from? Who’s been saying that stuff to you?” Hyunggu reached for Hwitaek’s arm - Hwitaek stepped back, avoiding him, and said, “Don’t act like you didn’t know this, Hyunggu-ya. Ever since we were trainees together, you’ve been outshining me.” His eyes started to fill with tears, but he blinked them away and took a deep breath. “I never stood a chance next to you. I was lucky to get a job as a producer, even with KSan-sunbaenim’s help.”

Hyunggu looked down. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I never meant to outshine you - I thought you were doing really well. I’m sorry.” He laid a hand on Hwitaek’s shoulder. “Can I hug you?”

Hwitaek nodded silently, and Hyunggu wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. “I love you, hyung.”

As Hwitaek leaned into the hug, the knife in his pocket bumped against his leg. He suddenly became aware that the sun had finished setting as they talked, and that it was quiet - no sounds of passersby, no witnesses.

He shook his head a little. He couldn’t kill Hyunggu.

Eventually, Hyunggu let go. Hwitaek tried not to think about the knife as he stepped away and said, “You should probably be going.”

Hyunggu shrugged. “I have time.”

“Just go - I can’t let you be my inspiration.” Hwitaek said the second part quietly, more for the sake of reminding himself than for Hyunggu’s benefit, but Hyunggu seemed to catch it; he gave Hwitaek a funny look and said, “You don’t have to have inspiration for music.”

_You don’t have to have inspiration for music._

Of course Hyunggu would say that. He didn’t know what it was like to be completely devoid of ideas, he didn’t understand what was happening - he could never understand.

_You don’t have to have inspiration-_

Hwitaek reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the handle of the knife, gritting his teeth. “What did you say?”

Hyunggu raised an eyebrow. “You-”

_You don’t have-_

Before Hyunggu could finish, Hwitaek pulled the knife out and stabbed him.

Hyunggu’s eyes went round with shock. He looked down at the knife embedded in his stomach, then back up at Hwitaek.

Hwitaek stared back as Hyunggu fell to the ground. It was almost surreal, seeing him curled on the ground like this, face contorting in pain, blood leaking out around the knife handle.

He caught a faint strain of music.

Immediately, he knelt next to Hyunggu and rolled him over onto his back. The music was so _close_ \- he needed to do something.

“Hyung,” Hyunggu groaned, “what-”

No - he couldn’t get distracted! He wrapped his hands around Hyunggu’s neck, cut off his air - the music was starting to get louder - Hyunggu grabbed at him, face turning purple - he squeezed harder, vicious. He had to get it over with, nothing mattered anymore except the music - it kept growing more powerful, crescendoing slowly… 

Hyunggu went limp.

Hwitaek lifted his hands. He’d left bruises on Hyunggu’s throat.

The music kept going, crowding his head, but his chest felt strangely hollow.

Was this real?

What had he _done_?

He scrambled away from the body - _Hyunggu’s body_ \- and fell against the base of a wall, curling up and breathing heavily.

This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 _He_ wasn’t supposed to be like this.

What was happening to him?

He crept over to the body.

The music was perfect for Hyunggu, achingly familiar, tender, beautiful. He already knew what this movement had to be called; he would put the name on the body. He removed the knife from Hyunggu’s flesh, avoiding the spurt of blood that flowed out when he did so, and used the tip to trace the word “Amoroso” on Hyunggu’s chest. Then, he wiped the excess blood off the knife with Hyunggu’s shirt and fled back to the studio.

***

Hwitaek closed his eyes and listened to Hyunggu’s movement again, swaying slightly with the music. It was a peaceful day today, no chaos to break his music apart.

Something touched his shoulder. Without opening his eyes, he waited for KSan to sit next to him on the studio couch.

“What are you doing, Hwitaek-ah?”

“Listening… the Amoroso.” He knew it seemed strange, that he could hear it without headphones or speakers. They lived in his head, though, he’d call them and they would be there for him.

KSan sighed. “You need to finish the symphony, Hwitaek-ah. You said there’s only one movement left.”

Hwitaek shook his head. “I’m not doing it, sunbaenim.”

“What?”

He opened his eyes and looked up at KSan. “I won’t finish it. There’s no point now.”

“What do you mean, no point?” KSan frowned.

“I haven’t got anything left.” Hwitaek paused, turned to the window and stared at the snow falling outside. “Do you think spring will come soon, sunbaenim?”

“You can’t just _stop_ ,” KSan said, stepping closer. “This is my - Hwitaek-ah, this is your chance to become great. We aren’t going to waste this.”

Hwitaek didn’t answer. The snow was beginning to fall faster, building up on the ground.

“You’ve _killed_ people for this, Hwitaek-ah. They died for the sake of your symphony! If you don’t finish it, their deaths meant nothing!”

“Died?” Hwitaek’s gaze snapped back to KSan. “They aren’t dead, sunbaenim.” He stood. “They’re still here, they’re all here in my music! I can still hear them -” he gestured to the computer - “you can hear them too, sunbaenim, they’re not gone. They’re still alive - just as music, now.”

KSan picked up the tablet from the desk and opened it. “You know, Hwitaek-ah,” he tapped on the screen, swiped a few times, “I’m getting tired of hearing this. I think you need a reminder.” He glanced down at the screen. “You hit a man with your car, then strangled him to death and hid his body in the woods. Stabbed another nine times in an alley and let his body rot in a dumpster. The third victim, you strangled and buried in pieces; the police have only found about half the body so far.”

Hwitaek stepped back. “Stop.”

“The fourth, you held underwater until he drowned - then you tied rocks to his body and dropped it into the Han River,” KSan continued. “You slit the throat of your fifth victim and hid the body in an abandoned building; for your sixth murder, you beat a man to death and crammed him into the trunk of his own car.”

“S-stop -”

KSan advanced toward Hwitaek, brandishing the tablet. Hwitaek flinched away, and KSan pushed him back onto the sofa. “You led your best friend into a dark alleyway, stabbed him and strangled him… you’ve killed a lot of people, Hwitaek-ah.”

“No! I didn’t - they’re not - they-” Hwitaek gasped, trembling. “I don’t - they’re still here -” He cringed as KSan leaned in.

“Do you think they’d be happy, knowing that you killed them for the sake of an unfinished project?” KSan grabbed his arm. “If you finish the symphony, at least something will come of their deaths, but as long as it’s incomplete, you’ve killed them for nothing - you’re just a _murderer_.”

“Stop!” Hwitaek screamed. He wrenched his arm out of KSan’s grasp and shoved himself off the couch, stumbled away. “Stop it, stop saying that -”

KSan turned to face him. “I could turn you in. Is that what you want, Hwitaek-ah? You want me to tell the police that you’re the killer they’ve been looking for?”

“No, no, stop -”

“After all, the police just made a statement today that they’d found musical terms written on the bodies of the victims -” KSan lunged forward and caught the front of Hwitaek’s shirt, tugging him closer until they were face-to-face - “you were _stupid_ enough to write on the bodies, tossing out clues like you wanted to be caught.” He threw Hwitaek to the floor. “Idiot.”

Hwitaek curled up and covered his head with his arms. “Please - sunbaenim, I -”

“Finish the symphony,” KSan interrupted. “I don’t care what it takes. Do it, and do it fast.” He stormed out of the studio, slamming the door behind him.

***

He had to finish it for their sakes.

It was dark out now, and the snow had stopped. He’d carefully copied them down by hand in a book of blank staff paper; Mormorando, Religioso, Simile, Amoroso. The book lay open to the next page, waiting for the final movement.

This one was his. There was no avoiding it - in order to finish the symphony, he would need to kill himself.

He knew the name already, even without hearing it.

Beklemmt.

He used KSan’s knife to carve the word into his own forearm. He had to pause several times to catch his breath and steel himself for the next cut - each one was more painful than the one before, but it needed to be done.

By the time he was done, he could hear the music beginning. He sat down to copy it into the book - his left arm continued to bleed, twitching and trembling, so he made sure to hold it away from the book as he wrote.

Slowly, they started to gather around him. Something in between dreams and ghosts, almost solid, yet ethereal at the same time. Hyunggu’s was the clearest among them; it laid its hand on Hwitaek’s shoulder and smiled at him, pointing out where the next notes belonged.

The music still felt incomplete. He knew he’d filled in all the notes correctly, but there was an emptiness about it. It needed more.

Hyunggu’s ghost motioned to the keyboard.

That was it - he had to record it, had to record himself playing it. He stood, and the ghosts crowded around him, blocking his path.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

They stared at him.

His shoulders slumped as he realized that there was something else he had to do first. It wouldn’t be difficult, but…

Well, he needed to do it.

He’d made full demo recordings of the other movements, but he didn’t have the time to finish every part of this one - he settled for copying the sheet music into the software and setting up the auto instrumentals, leaving out the piano part. He’d play that himself, record it over the digital track.

Once he was done creating the base track, he fetched the canister of gasoline from the trunk of his car and brought it back to the studio. There was no one else in the building, so he could do it now; he poured the gasoline around the studio, soaked the floorboards and the couch and most of the room. He left a clear space around the computer and the keyboard so that he would have time to record his piano part.

There was a book of matches in the studio, next to the scented candle Hyunggu had made for him last year. It was still unused - he’d been saving it for a special occasion. He hesitated for a second, then lit the candle. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d feel guilty if he died without ever using it.

His hands shook as he struck another match and dropped it onto the couch. The gasoline-soaked cushions flared up immediately, sending up a cloud of dark smoke, and Hwitaek hurried over to the computer. He only had so much time left.

He slipped his headphones on and started the track.

The recording of the piano part wasn’t ideal - his left hand especially was still too trembly to play it perfectly - but it was as close as he could get. He saved the audio file and dragged it to the folder with the rest of the movements, then copied the folder to a flash drive. The room filled with smoke as he waited for it to finish, fire spreading around the edges and slowly creeping in closer.

Finally, the process was completed. He ejected the flash drive and put it into a plastic bag with his tablet and the book of staff paper he’d copied the symphony into, sealed the bag, and tossed it out the window. Someone would pick it up later, and his symphony would live on.

He closed the window, coughing. The smoke was heavier now - he could barely see anything through it. Hyunggu’s ghost was still here, though, holding its hand out to him. He wiped his eyes, sat at the keyboard and said hoarsely, “Play with me.”

The ghost obliged, positioning its hands for the two-person arrangement of the song he’d written so long ago. Hwitaek nodded and began to play as the smoke wreathed around him.

*******

*******

“You picked up the bag with the flash drive before anyone discovered it, I assume,” Hyunggu said.

KSan shrugged. “It happened to land in a place where the firefighters and police didn’t notice it. Good luck, I suppose.”

“And of course you changed the names of the movements.”

“I couldn’t exactly go and release it with the original names. It would have been incredibly stupid of me to keep them.”

Hyunggu nodded.

“Out of curiosity, do you have a scar? On your chest, I mean, where he cut the name of the movement into you.” KSan leaned forward. “I hear you’re taking quite a while to recover.”

“It’s none of your business,” Hyunggu said sharply.

“He couldn’t quite bring himself to actually kill you, in the end. I really thought he’d done it, but here you are.”

Hyunggu glanced at the tablet. “As far as I can tell, he thought he’d killed me too.”

“Hwitaek was always a bit… emotional. Not exactly the most rational of -”

“Shut up.” Hyunggu’s eyes flashed. “You don’t have the right to talk about him like that.”

KSan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not being very polite, Hyunggu-ya.”

“I don’t care about being polite anymore. You’re a terrible person and you don’t deserve respect,” Hyunggu hissed. “I thought maybe if I came here, I could talk to you reasonably, but I should have realized it would be useless.” He turned away.

“I knew Hwitaek better than you did, Hyunggu-ya. He would have gone down this road eventually, or something like it - I just stood by him and nudged him a little when he needed it.”

Hyunggu whirled around to face KSan. “You never bothered to learn enough about Hwitaek-hyung to say you ‘knew him’! You cared about the parts of him that benefited you, and you ignored the rest, or took advantage of it. You have no idea what kind of person he is, you don’t know what he’s like deep down - all you know is the version of him that you manipulated and abused and tortured until he wasn’t even recognizable as himself.”

“You can think that, if you like. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Hyunggu shook his head. “I’m done talking to you.” His voice was ice cold. “There are police and reporters outside; I’ve told them everything. You can try to defend yourself, but you’re not getting out of this without consequences.” He opened the door, paused. “Have fun.”

KSan watched silently as he walked out.

***

Hyunggu sighed as he entered the hospital. He’d had more than enough of hospitals during his recovery - the smell of hospital disinfectant still lingered on most of his clothes, no matter how many times he ran them through the wash - but it was important for him to be here.

He chatted with the receptionist a little as she pulled out a visitor bracelet and fastened it around his wrist. She gave him directions, and he nodded politely and thanked her, even though he knew where he was going.

The ICU was noisy, doctors and nurses bustling around and calling to each other while machines beeped and whirred; it would have been overwhelming if Hyunggu hadn’t spent enough time here recently to be used to it. He made his way to one of the rooms, checked with a nurse to make sure things were all right, and stepped inside.

Hwitaek was still unconscious. One of the doctors had told Hyunggu that he had to be under heavy sedation most of the time; the few times he’d woken up, he’d apparently panicked and tried to rip all the tubes out of himself. He was hooked up to a ventilator - his lungs were severely scarred from the smoke - and the mask covered most of his face, but from what Hyunggu could see, he seemed relatively peaceful.

The injuries on Hwitaek’s left forearm were deep enough that the doctors had cautioned against moving the arm, so Hyunggu had to sit on the right side of the bed in order to hold his hand. Multiple IVs and other tubes protruded from his body - the number of machines he was hooked up to was honestly frightening, and Hyunggu did his best to ignore them as he looked at his friend.

“Hi, hyung.” He wasn’t sure if Hwitaek could hear him, but he tried to talk to him whenever he came in, just in case. “Um, it’s Tuesday. Less than a week until I get to go back to vocal training. The company still won’t let me do any dancing, but hopefully I’ll be recovered enough to do that soon.”

Hwitaek didn’t respond. He looked so tiny and fragile, lying in the hospital bed - Hyunggu blinked back his tears before continuing.

“The investigation is going well. They’re still thinking of you as a victim, mostly. I think KSan is going to end up being blamed for a lot of it - there’s a lot of evidence against him, especially since he says he wrote the symphony. They found the original names of the movements on the hard drive, and they correspond to the victims… I mean, I guess you would know that.” He sighed. “They’re starting to question how much of your journal was actually written by you. They think KSan might be trying to frame you. I hope that’s what’s going on. I don’t want to believe that you really did all that.”

The machines beeped.

“I hope you wake up soon, hyung. I really miss you.”

Hyunggu sat and held Hwitaek’s hand for a while longer, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the ventilator delivering oxygen to Hwitaek’s damaged lungs and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Eventually, a nurse poked her head inside the room and told him that visiting hours were over.

As Hyunggu left the room, a tear rolled down Hwitaek’s cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> so um. yeah. interpret that how you will.


End file.
